


define self control

by thejollypirate



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, I don't know what I'm doing, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-03-14 20:45:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3424973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejollypirate/pseuds/thejollypirate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma Swan and Killian Jones are not innocent. Here lies the epitome of probably bad smut writing/practice one-shots for our lovely couple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. stay but run

**i.**

Killian eyes about every woman in the jam-packed bar. This is his life. Banging any beautiful lady he sees fit, and tonight, there’s no difference than his usual motives. One night stands is what he lives for, and you can consider him quite pathetic for it, but can you blame him? He has a rough past, one he’s not happy of, one he’s not willing to come out from. He’s in this little shell he’d rather not withdraw from, so he finds solace in the wonderful bottles of rum, and the pleasure of woman.

And tonight, nothing changes. His eyes scan the crowd while he calmly swirls a glass of rum at his own expense. Usually, he’s able to track someone willing down, really, it’s not that hard. He’s in a active bar with a handful of lovely looking woman. But tonight, he doesn’t seem so lenient on his options. He weighs each and every one of them, his eyes intent on fucking one of them, but that doesn’t turn out so well actually. As for immediate attraction, he usually doesn’t notice anyone that comes and goes out of the bar, for that isn’t his motive, but tonight, his eyes drift toward the entrance, a blonde in a red leather jacket, who looks awfully exhausted from something, walking in confidence. She takes a seat at the far end of the counter, and his eyes follow her the entire way there.

Some consider this stalking. He considers it… his prey for the night. So, his final decision is _her_. He observes her intently, watching her every action. Everything else around him doesn’t matter, as he’s completely zoned out to her. When Robin asks him who’s his next target, Killian dismisses him quickly after telling him it’s the blonde in the red leather jacket. He needs a plan set up first. Plus one when you have a good friend running the bar you frequent almost each night. Plus two when he can help you grab the woman’s attention with some simple actions.

“Her drinks are on me, Locksley, don’t screw this over,” he demands at Robin over the loud music. “Might I add, do not tell her who I am, but do tell her the _unique_ meeting location.” Killian drops a wad of cash on the counter before he slips off the barstool and weaves through every person, swinging his black leather jacket on.

His skin goes against the brisk winds of the chilly night, but he goes to the location he spoke about. It’s different from the ones he usually attends with the other woman. This one, she’s different, she’s special, and there’s that familiar look in her eyes that he understands more than anything else. Though he's not completely positive she will show up, he's willing to wait for the night. Its not a far distance from the bar, in fact, he can see it within his view, which means he can watch the door to see if she decides to come or not.

It's been about twenty minutes, but he finally catches her leave the bar. Her hair swaying in the wind, but a confused face written all over while she examines a piece of paper. He rests his shoulder against the brick wall, seeking for her through the other people calmly strolling down the streets of New York. The closer she nears, the more he backs into the alleyway and leans against the wall, one foot propped up against the bricks, his arms crossed, head back, and eyes closed as he only relies on his hearing and intuition to predict her arrival. And just as he hears a click from whatever footwear she owns, he cracks open one eye and glances to his left, noticing the woman standing there with a raised eyebrow. Even under the darkness shadowing from the neighbouring building, he doesn't fail to notice her beauty of high cheekbones, and a stunning shade of green eyes. The things he's dreaming of in his imagination right now lead him to sliding his tongue in between to lick his lips.

She approaches him with all but haste, more full of reluctance, yet he doesn't sense that much of fear. He figures she's a strong woman, because he can read her much like he's known her from the very beginning. But there's a familiarity to her, and he can't pin it down at the moment. All he knows is that she's walking up to him, her head subtly cocked to the side in mindful confusion, and that there are sinful things he'd like to do to her.

"Bold of you to be paying for a woman's drink like that," she claims, crumbling the piece of paper away. "Never expected to see you here, Killian Jones." She's awfully confident and courageous, but he likes that. 

He chuckles all but emotionless, jerking his head to take her full appearance in. "Where are my manners? You seem to know my name, but you are?"

"Don't remember me, do you?" She tugs on her leather jacket, supposedly for warmth. "Well that's expected. I suppose our childhood are just far memories now, aren't they?"

Killian narrows his eyes at her, observing her fully. Not a second later, he remembers everything about the woman in front of her. It only strikes a part of his heart that has been reserved for her for years. He clenches his jaw and looks away because he just can't believe who he's looking at right now. The little girl who had been his best friend for a year before she had been thrown back into the foster system. Emma Swan. The shy thirteen year old who was always lonely in the corner of the classroom, or always picked on. The shy thirteen year old who had been badly abused, and would stay with him at his house with the consent of Liam. The shy thirteen year old who cried in his arms one night because she was saying goodbye.

He curses himself inside his brain, and huffs out a shameful breath. "Apologies, love. I've never expected it to be you again, especially under these... particularly impure intentions of mine." He pushes himself off the wall with his usual swagger, a smile ghosting on his lips over the small, fond memories that push its way into his mind. "You are as beautiful as ever, Swan," he mumbles, his eyes skimming over her shivering body. "I don't suppose I will be excused for my late recognition on your identity, will I?"

She laughs, the air turning a faint white before it fades away. "I'm flattered that you want to _fuck_ me, but that's not why I came here, even though I knew that'd had been your reasons the entire time. I came here because I owe you a debt," she says honestly, her eyes dropping down to the floor. But, there's something else there under her words.

A debt. Interesting. "And to what do I owe the pleasure, love?"

"You were my one true friend as a teen, and should you find this peaks your interest, I'd like for us to catch up some time," she offers, "as friends." 

The offer stands between them with many other unspoken words. He considers it. Why wouldn't he? He's loved her for so many reasons, even through his childish adolescent years when he was clueless about love. If there's even a fraction of his heart which still cares for her, he'd humbly accept. Except, this wasn't, and _isn't_ his mission for the night. His mission for the night was, and is to fuck the hell out of her and get all his pent of emotions out of his system, not meet a childhood friend who wants to catch up as if they've been old friends all along. And as much as he tries to push away her extremely tempting offer, it comes back and resonates in the side of his mind, as if it's forcing him to.

His eyes flicker down to her lips and back to her eyes which are intently wide and staring at him, waiting for him to relay an answer. He tilts his head to the side, admiring her strength at trying to persuade him away from his original goals. "Is that really what you want, _Emma_? For us to catch up on fifteen years?" he inquires, dragging his words out. 

It appears like his behaviour makes her appalled, for he can read just like how he could fifteen years ago. She releases a shaky laugh, and she takes one step forward, crashing her own lips on his. Through her initiation, he's surprised she does it, but it takes him shorter than a second to respond to her call. He snakes his hands around her waist, pushing her against the cold, brick wall. Both of them make silent, yet desperate pleas in their actions, and Killian can hear her loud and clear. Devouring each other, drowning in each others presence, his hand follows the curve up her body until it reaches her head, playing with the golden hair that slips in between his fingers. In a clash of dominance, he defeats her easily thanks to his expansive experience. He slides his tongue across her bottom lip, exploring the remainder of her mouth. If there's one thing he knows, his imagination pales to reality. 

While he wants to continue, he needs time to breathe. He pulls back a little bit, their foreheads tapping against each other, his nose brushing against her own soft skin. "I knew you couldn't resist," he mumbles, opening his eyes to look into hers. It's no longer a emerald shade of green in her eyes, its a dark shade of greenish gray, and though he usually likes dark looks, this one frightens him to an extent. He doesn't like this Emma Swan as much as the bright, stubborn, confident one from earlier. But he pushes his thoughts of vulnerabilities and what the kiss exposed away. "Would you like me to ravish you here, or shall we take this to somewhere more private?" he growls in her ear, his fingers rubbing patterns on her hip. 

"Gentleman now, are we?"

"I'm always a gentleman, so please answer the question before I choose myself," he responds, inhaling the faint smell of her perfume. His arousal only grows more, and if she doesn't make a decision soon, he's not going to making much of an effort to hide his erection. 

She smirks at him, her fingers wrapping around his neck. "Your choice, Jones."

Granted she gives him the choice, he weighs between his two options. He remembers the fragile, young girl from his adolescent years and sighs, pushing himself closer to her body. "As much as I want to be rough with you here, you _deserve_ better," he says his final decision, pressing a kiss to her bare neck. "Come." His hand interlaces with hers, and though its more intimate than most of his usual actions, the same voice inside keeps telling him to treat her better. She doesn't deserve a wrecked man like him, and since she came to him voluntarily, given the opportunity to ignore him, he'll attempt his best at granting all of her desires for the night. 

They stumble into his dark apartment, unable to keep their hands off each other. During the entire time they walked toward his apartment, him keeping silent and only squeezing her hand, he was filling his mind with picture of her bare. Now, he can have that right at his hands. He kicks the door shut, and they tumble forward in a mess of rough kissing onto the couch. To be honest, he's not on his top game considering he did have a couple shots of rum, but he's doing his best with Emma, because he lo- he's missed her for fifteen years. Fifteen years of an empty gap in his heart, a hole that never got filled, and now possibly can. And he'd be lying if he says he doesn't feel guilty for taking advantage of her while they both had a couple libations.

They switch spots, him laying on the couch while she straddles his hips, right against the bulge that grows as every second advances. This is the first time he's actually brought someone to his apartment. He usually takes other woman in the dark alleys, or at a hotel, but never at his own residence. He makes an extraordinary exception for Emma Swan. "Do you want this?" he rasps out, his hands firm on her wrists.

"You're asking me if I want to fuck the boy who I had feelings for as a kid, who has turned out to be a walking sex magnet?" she taunts. "I knew it was you the moment I walked into the bar. I track people down for a living, better not underestimate me there," she exclaims.

He chuckles, absorbing every word she says. "I am far from a boy," he complains, pulling on her arm so she falls against his chest. "You must have had many shots of tequila. I can _smell_ it, love.” He buries his face into the side of her neck, pressing sloppy wet kisses on her side. He hears her suck in a breath, and he smiles like a devil against her skin. The scent of her perfume starts to cloud up all his other senses, yet he doesn’t mind because it’s delicious… weirdly.

It doesn’t take long for him to realize that her hand trails down his chest down to his erection, her hand rubbing over the bulge that resides beneath his jeans. “Definitely far from a boy,” she murmurs, smirking as she unbuckles his belt.

Killian quickly brings his hand around her wrist to stop her, and she nearly whimpers in disappointment. He laughs softly, shifting her back onto his legs as he sits up. “Impatient, aren’t you, darling?” he growls. “Bedroom. Up and at it.” When she gets off of him, he does the same, but takes his lead in front of her down the dark hallway and into his bedroom.

The moment they’re in that room, he whips his belt off and kicks his jeans onto the floor, and then soon enough, there’s a pile of clothes sitting by the edge of the room. Once again, he’s completely speechless as everything pales in comparison between reality and imagination. He’s damned tonight. Emma Swan is a total vision, a bloody siren almost, and he’s intends to have every part of her, have her scream his name, have her _beg_ for more.

He pushes her against the edge of the bed, both of them dropping down onto the mattress and covers. His eyes flicker between her lips and her eyes, but he disregards whatever he feels emotionally and takes her anyways. Their lips collide in a hungry battle, and she gives in, sighing softly, leaving her mouth open for him to do his further research. One of his hands trail down her tights, pulling her leg up so it wraps around his torso. 

“I’m going to taste every inch of your skin, Swan,” he hisses, his fingers skimming over her stomach until it reaches the one place that has been practically begging for him already. “I hope you do not have any objections with the way I want to have you, love,” he says, his thumb brushing against her clit.

Emma breathes out a shaky laugh, her fingers digging into his back. “Fuck me,” she mutters, as he slips a finger in between her folds. 

“Gladly,” he responds sarcastically, pushing in a second finger and then the third- very little warning goes into that. The faster he goes, the more she breathes against his neck, and he can tell her breathing gets more ragged and short every time. He can tell she’s holding back on her release, or making much noise to any measure, so his dark intentions only grow further. “Oh love, don’t be like that. I want to hear you, I want to feel you,” he mutters lowly, plunging his fingers deeper and faster.

“ _Killian_ ,” she moans against his neck, her lips pressing softly against his skin. “Damn, don’t stop,” she pleads, her nails scraping against his back. The pain doesn’t even make him flinch, but gods, making her feel this pleasure gets him off in a way too.

“That’s right, come for me, sweetheart. Stop holding back,” he tells her as he continues his steady pace, figuring out how far he can go before her hands clench around his back and she falls to her release. He smirks with an arched eyebrow, taking his fingers out of her. “Bloody brilliant, love,” he mumbles, bracing his arms on each side of her before he presses himself against her. She’s flushed with heat, her entire body practically imitating a fucking heater, and he groans inwardly, knowing the things he’s doing to her is _making_ her be this way.

His lips find hers quickly, and they tumble on the bed before he’s laying on his back for the _second_ time tonight. His hand slips in between them to knead her breast, a moan escaping between her lips as he’s still trapped her in a searing kiss. As if on cue, her hands trail down his bare chest, right until she hits his shaft. Her hand wraps around him, and he groans at the sensitive touch. Without consent, not that she needs any, her hands start to stroke him, and he’s _never_ had such pleasure hit him before, just what exactly does Emma Swan do to him? A lot of things actually, but he refuses to acknowledge his absolute never-ending affection for this woman. Not while he’s going to eventually fuck her until her knees drop, not while he listens to her pleas of desperation. 

Despite being completely immersed in the moment, he doesn’t even bother complaining when her mouth moves away from his, down to his strained cock. She licks the underside of it, and he tilts his head back, and if it’s even possible, his eyes squeeze shut further than he can possibly imagine. Soon enough, her mouth envelopes him, and he has Emma _fucking_ Swan, his teenage crush, the missing piece of his heart, giving him the pleasure he’s been needing all night. He’s getting the release he requires, but there’s still a voice telling him that she isn’t his everyday one night stand. Oh, hell he knows this won’t be a one night stand, he _refuses_ to believe that, or let it happen. He’ll fight for her until she wants him voluntarily.

Killian jerks himself forward, making her take him in whole. In order to both torture him, and make him feel so much better, she twirls her tongue around his tip, which makes him let out a groan, his fingers tugging at her hair the more she takes him in. “Emma,” he breathes out, finding himself unable to continue his sentence until he drags in a couple of breaths. The remainder of him is hissing out an entire line of curses. Not one single one night stand has made him feel this before.

There is a large grin plastered well across his face when he reaches his limit, Emma seemingly having a satisfying face just by getting him off. He notices her swallow and lick her lips of his release. “Bloody hell,” he mutters, still trying to regain his breath.

“Breathless now?” she whispers, a little too seductive for his tolerance.

He scoffs lowly, reaching over to his bedside, pulling out the condom in the drawer. “Indeed I am.” He’s never ripped a condom wrapper open faster in his life. “But not enough for you, love.” He quickly slips it on, and then his hands grip on her shoulders as they flip positions on the bed, his face tucked at the crook of her neck. Killian sucks down on her neck as he slowly teases her opening with his own tip, which causes her to gasp for a short breath. He smiles, taking his time inserting himself into her. If his shoulders and back isn’t already scratched enough, her fingers dig into his shoulders once again.

“I would like to get on with it, Jones,” she mutters.

Usually, he will respond and make some smug remark, but this time, he just wants to fuck her, so he does. He manages to pick up his pace, and when she begs for more, _pleading_ for him to go harder, crying through the immeasurable pleasure she feels, he smirks, making sure she feels exactly what she should be feeling. Either the want for more, or that he has feelings for her- hopefully, she’ll feel both, but she is probably quite intoxicated by her drinks earlier. The harder he thrusts forward, hitting the spot that makes her shudder under his touch, the louder the sounds come out of her mouth.

One hand clings onto his shoulder for support, the other fisted in his hair, pulling and tugging. It starts getting more difficult for him to make a faster pace considering her walls start to clench around him. He grunts and swears, forcing himself to continue up his constant motion. Though his arms are locked on both sides of her, he feels like falling down on her, not because he’s running out of stamina- he has plenty of that- but, it’s because this woman is like the Great Wall of China, it’s taking him more effort to break her down than ever. Killian Jones is up for a challenge though.

It’s almost as if they’re both being animalistic, fighting against each other in competition for the other. And yet, he’s completely lost for words when he’s inside her. Killian cannot find the time to worry about anything else at the moment. Burying himself inside of her is literally the last thing he could have had on his list, finding that it was hopeless for him to ever see her again. But yet, she falls short, and is now having _hopefully_ having the best sex in her life. Not that he holds her up to it, but for him, this is _definitely_ the best fuck he’s had in ages.

“So fucking good, Swan,” he mutters in between ragged breaths, pushing himself further. His thrusts start to get sloppy, considering he’s losing his speed to the need of his climax. He can feel that rush of boiling blood throughout his veins, he can _feel_ his ridiculous attraction toward Emma Swan. 

At the last push, they both lose it together. For a second, he stays put and doesn’t move, only trying to catch his breath. However, he’s under his position of strength, tumbling to the other side of the bed. It takes him a couple of minutes before his breathing evens out, and by then, he’s out of bed cleaning himself up. The thrill of the moment still burns inside of him as he returns back to see Emma’s eyes closed, curled to the side. He sighs contentedly, grabbing the covers and sliding them over her.

He presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek, debating about sleeping next to her, or taking his spot on the couch. He’s regained most of his senses, no longer being that pouncing, fearless alpha he was earlier. Just watching her peacefully rest makes him flutter inside, and he decides to sleep next to her. He figures he’s probably only going to make the soreness worse if he passes out on the couch. But through all the excuses he puts up, he wants to make up for lost time.

As subtly as possible, he wraps an arm around her, his hand resting on her stomach. It doesn’t take long for him to fall into a deep slumber, thanks to the grace of her warmth and smell. And the bloody damn reminder of how _everything_ feel just about _right_ in his grasp.

The next morning, he doesn’t feel hungover, and he definitely doesn’t not notice that Emma’s still in his arms. He practically reevaluates the next night, remembering the moment she approached him, to the moment he had her at his mercy. At one moment, all he wanted was to have a good fuck and move on with his pitiful life, and the next he feels love for the woman in his arms. If only he knew how to take a grasp of self control on his interfering emotions.

Gods, he likes her.

He _loves_ her.

He just wants her to stay with him. He wants to know that this isn’t one-sided, he wants to know that he isn’t the only one who feels something. His eyes slide closed, and he smiles. If it’s only another five minutes, he’s going to relish the remainder of his time he has before he prepares for the wrath of a possibly confused Emma Swan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Inspired by ‘Stay With Me’ by Sam Smith and then ‘Animals’ by Maroon 5._  
>     
>  _Don’t have any clue about why I wrote this honestly, but it was good practice I suppose. It was also because I was really, really bored, and my muse wouldn’t cooperate with some other stuff. This is like… my third/fourth time writing smut. I think I’m improving… I THINK._
> 
> _Any feedback is appreciated, or comments too._


	2. it's captain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** How about steamy sexy time on a boat? It could involve a romantic picnic and definitely some plundering and pillaging. Probably some ravishing involving a certain pirate's head in a certain spot. It could be either him worshiping her or being a conquering pirate. It's your choice.

**ii.**

“Where in the world did you get this idea?” she asks him, staring at the well-prepared ship she’s standing on. 

He grins like the devil, wrapping his arms around her waist. “The first time you asked me out, I told you I could plan an evening out, love.”

“Yeah, except this time you’ve really outdone yourself,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “Seriously.”

The rest of the night continues to make her relatively confused. It’s literally a picnic on a damn boat, and she doesn’t know what she finds so interesting about it, but it feels oddly romantic, but yet she doesn’t care and goes along with all the hard work he put in. For one, they both enjoy the freshly-made food, but she finds him smiling like a… dork at her for most of the time. The rest, it’s them having a flirtatious banter, but after Gold’s banishment from Storybrooke, she’s been living for these moments. With Henry, her parents, and most of all, Killian.

It’s been an entire week of calm in town, and does it surprise her? Sort of. Perhaps it’s the anticipation of a well-known return from Gold that leaves her on edge, but also because for once she can have a partially normal life. She is dating Captain Hook, it can’t get any weirder- or better?- than that. And though Killian prides himself on being a villainous pirate, Emma doesn’t see anything of what he claims to be. Emma notices everything behind that stupid little bravado he had first put up when in Neverland. After their first (very intense) kiss, she set herself up for denial, thinking that it was just a movement of gratitude. Little did she know it was what the kiss had exposed to him. That he could love again, even behind his constant pursuit of revenge.

Yet, they’ve made it so far now. She’s no longer holding back by showing any public displays of affection, even if she feels slightly uncomfortable about it. She doesn’t mind holding hands, or getting kisses on the cheek. She doesn’t mind smiling and laughing carelessly once in awhile, because she needs this time to let loose. To relax.

This night, it’s one she’s going to remember. Though it being a second date, it’s chronological order doesn’t mean that much to her. What does matter, is the content of the night that comes to her.

Her head lays on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around her waist as they watch the sunset behind the horizon. It starts to grow dark and the winds begin to pick up. Killian quickly lets her go reluctantly to throw everything away or pack some stuff up before he returns. “Shall we retire to the Captain’s quarters?” he asks, his hot breath teasing her. “It’s rather cold. We can warm up inside,” he mumbles. She knows exactly what he means by ‘warm up,’ it’s like he’s not even making an effort to conceal his intentions anymore.

And though her mind may be screaming no, her body is screaming yes- she wants whatever may come to her tonight. He grabs her hand, pulling her down the main deck toward the door which leads inside. When they’re inside, he’s looking at her as his blue eyes are full of lust and desire. He grins, arching his eyebrow at her. “So, Swan, what would you like tonight?” It’s nearly like a pur. His fingertips brush her bare arms, making her shudder at his contact.

“You tell me,” she spits back, unable to find any other words to retaliate against him. If it’s a battle of words, she knows she’s going to lose. She gulps down all of the weird fears that pile up inside of her. 

“I don’t recall anything about _pillaging_ and _plundering_ on the second date,” he whispers, his face nearing hers every second. This is killing her already. “You cut quite the figure in this dress, darling. But there are some things I’d love to see under that,” he says against her ear. She catches her breath at his words, and her mind can’t conjure anything to say. But her body is definitely having a response, because she can feel the heat in her stomach. “So, tell me, _Emma_ , what would you like tonight?”

She doesn’t think she’s ever been so nervous before, but she also doesn’t think she’s ever been so unusually excited to be screwed. He is a pirate though. “You,” she blurts out, the tingly feeling her her fingers make her tremble. Only when she feels his lips touch her neck, sucking on all the right spots, does she start to lose her mind officially. One of her hands clench into a fist, because she doesn’t know any other way.

He grins against her skin, his hand trailing up her arm to her cheek before he pulls away from her neck and stares into her eyes. He looks cold and dark in a way, but she can see the _want_ and the _need_ for her shining in his eyes. She wants to say something, but she can’t because one moment she’s stuttering on creating the words, the next she’s being pinned up against the wooden table, his lips devouring hers in a hungry manner she’s never felt before. His hand tugs at her hair, while his cool hook rests on her back, his leg in between hers so she stays stable.

And at that moment, she crumbles. All her walls that have been up for so many years, protecting her and harming her, break down into a pile of rubble. She’s losing her mind with this man in front of her, preying on her like some sort of animal. Between them, it’s a battle of who’s-the-better-kisser. He gently tugs at her lower lips, being cautious, giving her a second if she wants to back out, and it makes her actually want him _more_. If he’s going to be considerate, the least she can do it obey to his action for the night. She’ll be able to manage herself… hopefully. Emma lets him continue exploring her mouth completely before they pull apart bother panting heavily for air. 

“Off with the clothes,” he demands, backing up giving her the space. 

She nods, and without a second thought, she abides by his commands. While she removes the last of her undergarments, she looks up to see his mouth agape, his eyes skimming up and down her body. “Your turn,” she mumbles.

“Oh no, love. Tonight this is about _you_ ,” he responds. “The rest comes later.”

She groans in disappointment about his side of things, but the thought of it being about her is something new, something foreign, something she looks forward to. “At least take the shirt and jacket off,” she begs. And when he does what she requests, she sucks in a breath, seeing the scars, and that chest hair that he proudly shows off all the time.

He chuckles darkly, approaching her with haste. His lips meet her immediately, but then he starts to trail down, his hook wrapped around one of her wrists, the other hand taking in a fistful of her hair. Although he might have his pants on, while their hips roll against each other, she can feel his evident arousal through the leather pants. Before she’s registering about being mauled by a pirate on their second date, his fingers tease her entrance. “Bed,” he mumbles against her skin, sidestepping and hauling her to the bed at the side of the room.

Killian pushes her back onto the bed, and she’s never been so vulnerable in her life. She’s never been so open to anyone, and now, she’s trusting herself with a fucking pirate. Literally. Or Killian Jones. She can’t exactly tell which is which anymore.

His fingers slip in between her slick folds, and she whimpers at the sudden action. She’s squeezing her eyes shut so much, it actually hurts to an extent. “Look at me, Swan,” he commands, his hook sliding up on her arm. Her hands grip the sheets on the single bed, but her eyes creak open to see him right above her, his breath hot on her face. “You’ve been wanting this all night,” he mumbles, pressing kisses down the side of her jaw. “You found me even more irresistible after a few libations,” he breathes out, his fingers curling gently inside of her.

A moan escapes her lips as she tries to not fall into the persuasion of his words, but she can’t. “ _Killian_ ,” she whispers, barely audible. When his speed picks up, her fingers grip on his shoulder, digging her nails into his skin. “God damn,” she mutters. This heat spiking the insides of her stomach finally lets loose, her toes curling at the outcome. 

He smiles devilishly, pressing kisses down her body until his head is in between her legs. Not until his tongue licks there does she feel so lost in thought, so thick of emotion, and so desperate for more, despite that fact she’s giving herself over to him for the first time. Through the tender kisses, the hungry ones, and the ones full of unspoken words, never through any of those moments has she really dreamed of… having something like this play out in front of her. 

Never mind that though, because his tongue does _godly_ things that should be illegal, and she cries out his name in response, though it’s unintentional at how loud she might be. “ _Fuck_ ,” she breathes out, her hand curling into a ball. The scraping of his scruff between her thighs only adds on to make it better for the worst- if that makes any sense.

“Nice and wet for me, love,” he mumbles against her thigh, his fingers tickling the side of her legs. He dips down again, and she loses her mind _completely_ , trying to brace herself for the rushing wave of pleasure going from head to toe. “Come for me, Swan.”

And she does because she can’t hold back anymore. It’s unexplainable about the things he does to her. Her body breaks down, shivering at the overwhelming her. Emma takes in elongated breathes, trying to calm herself. “Pillaging and plundering on the second date,” she murmurs, gulping down the false fear she feels. “You’ve _definitely_ outdone yourself now, _pirate_.”

“I believe it’s _Captain_ ,” he retorts, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _That wasn't very steamy. I don't know, just take it- take it all._


	3. what space?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** How about a shower scene? Those are always pretty hot.
> 
> A little plot in this one. Modern AU.

**iii.**

It’s been far too long since he’s been able to relax and calm down from the overwhelming stress from the amount of tours he’s been doing on the new ships. In fact, within this past week, he’s gotten no more than a couple of short hours of sleep each day before he’s up bright and early out the door, and home later than ever, plunging onto his bed without a second thought. And living with Emma Swan makes it far, far more torture for him.

He’s been her best friend for five years now, and within those five years, he’s been happy. He still is happy, but the more he thinks about it, the more it agitates him after work. For one, he’s been awfully in love with this woman since they met, and now, he barely gets to see her before his own career launches off the platform saying ‘good fucking bye to your social life.’ He’s twenty-eight, has a major crush on his own roommate, and acts as if there’s nothing but a mere good friendship. Wrong. Really, really fucking wrong for him to be screwing himself over like this. He’s twenty-eight, and can’t even tell the woman he likes his own bloody feelings. Here, we present pathetic, frightened to shit, Killian Jones.

Five years of pulling himself together by giving her small hints, five years of shooting her smirks and playful gestures, five years of practically proving himself to be a good man. But of course, this isn’t as one-sided as he thinks it is. He can’t blame it all on himself, because for a good chunk of this relationship, he knows how Emma’s really protective about this entire ‘relationship and dating’ sort of thing. After being heartbroken and totally out of the ‘dating’ spotlight, she’s not considered once about going out with any other person ever again.

Killian doesn’t blame her.

In fact, he blames himself for being that shoulder to cry on whenever she wakes up from some haunting nightmare, or when something vividly reminds her about one of her douchebag ex’s. He doesn’t hate being that person to support her, but he _loves_ her so bloody much, it hurts to be that ‘third wheel’ type of guy who just plays the best friend and does nothing more. No matter how much effort he tries to put in to please her, and show her just exactly who he is, and how he’ll _never_ hurt her like her past boyfriends have, it just never proves to show how she’ll ever feel the same about him. 

So it begins with the anger flowing through his blood as he returns home from a horrible day at work with outrageously rude tourists. Emma’s on the couch, flipping through the random shows on Netflix, but without a bother in the world, he storms off into his bedroom to grab a couple of clothes, and then heads into the washroom, slamming the door behind him. Usually he never loses his anger, especially not over a couple of people who said some rather condescending things, but because he’s the _employee_ he needs to treat everyone with respect, regardless of what happens. Goes to fucking show how much he’s being pissed on even at his own damn job.

For one, he’s clearly frustrated with the way he got treated, and two, he’s been far too caught up with his emotions for Emma Swan. Too much. So, he gets rid of all of his clothes, and jumps into the shower to let himself relax. Little did he know five minutes he in caved into the sexual frustration he feels for Swan, and he ends up jerking off as he suppresses a groan. The shower can’t push out all noises, and one of them is him. 

Bang. “Killian, you alright in there?” she asks, knocking on the door.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I’m fine!” he shouts, though his voice doesn’t exactly scream, ‘I’m sorry I just sort of barged in and ignored you completely,’ or ‘Hey, I’m actually totally fine, stop worrying about me, love.’

If five years isn’t enough to know how much you roommate cares for you, then he doesn’t know what because apparently, there’s no sense of privacy when it comes to someones emotions. He left the damn door open. Smart. _Good job, Killian, you fucked up. A lot._ He leans back against the tiles, and he doesn’t even care if Emma sees him naked and flustered, he could care less considering she did just open the door.

“When someone says they’re fine, they’re not exactly fine,” she mutters.

“Yeah, because that phrase is quite common among _you_ ,” he snaps, shutting his eyes. Okay, so maybe he just crossed the line.

She slams the washroom door behind her shut, probably out of anger and surprise. “Excuse me? Killian what the hell happened today?” she inquires, her voice rising with every word.

“Nothing. Nothing at all,” he drawls out, his hand reaching out of the shower curtains blindly, searching for his towel. “And I don’t intend to have this conversation while I’m clothless in the shower with my best friend standing two feet away from me.” Before he can pull the towel away from the holder, he feels her hand tighten around his wet wrist. “ _Swan_ , I am not in the mood to put up with whatever information you want to reel out of me. Let. Me. Go.”

“And _I’m_ not in the mood to put up with your shit.” She lets go of his wrist slowly. “Firstly, you came in here all angry without saying a word and then you insult me because you had some horrible day? Yes, thank you for using me as your target, I really appreciate it, Jones,” she yells. “I was going to actually ask you something when you got home today, but I guess since you’re not in the mood to deal with me, I’ll just consider it for _later_.”

For some reason, with this abundant amount of tension in the air, all of his anger slowly vanishes, and gets covered by some apologetic feeling. “Apologies, love. I’ve not had a good day at all, I set my anger out on you, and for that, I truly am sorry,” he says, and it’s barely over a whisper. She doesn’t deserve his bullshit, he should keep that to himself. 

“I don’t suppose I can join you in this shower of yours, can I?”

Why does his life just have to be so difficult? Why can’t it be easy for once? Why can’t he relax? “By all means, if that is your desire, you may join me. We’re adults. Showering. What can go wrong, Swan?” _Plenty of buggering things can go wrong_ , he tells himself, immediately regretting the words he told her. _This is not going to end up as showering_ , he supposes.

Not long after, she’s in the shower with him, and though it’s not like he’s never seen a bare woman before, it’s just that he’s never seen a bare Emma Swan before. He keeps his eyes away from… anywhere besides the top of her head. Killian sends her a small smile, and _bloody fuck_ he doesn’t care about any repercussions anymore, he wants the living hell out of her. The sexual tension between them is practically heating their bodies, so there’s really not a single thing left in him to care about what he’s about to do. So, he does what he does best when he loses control with a beautiful woman in front of him.

Killian captures her lips with his, pushing her up against the tile wall, his hands braced on each side of her, the coolness of the tiles on his hand sending the shivers down his spine. For so long, he’s wanted this, always thinking she would completely reject him, push him out, ‘friendzone’ him even. But he’s kissing her with so much passion, so much to wear he can eat her up, and yet she doesn’t push him away, she doesn’t deny anything, she leads him on, her arms wrapping around his neck, playing with his hair. 

His mind has never conjured up such an image of Emma Swan standing like this in front of him, but he doesn’t care about anything except her. After so many years of desperate chasing, after so many years of denying all of those girls at the pubs and bars, he’s finally ready to have something more stable, and that stable, that one who has been keeping him anchored down is Emma, and he wants her, and her only. No one else.

It’s been two years since she’s sworn off being in a relationship. His anger at her fades and nothing clouds his vision any further. Nothing has ever felt so right in his life before, even while he’s been living with her. This moment is shedding so much light on the emotions he’s been bottling up, it’s actually quite ridiculous if you’d try and list what he feels. Excitement, desperation, passion, uncertainty, reality. And even if he can read her like an open book, she can also read him quite easily as well.

“Killian,” she begins, “you okay?”

“Er, I’m fine. Just overwhelmed, but it’s a good feeling,” he answers, his hand sliding down her side. He feels her shudder under his touch, even with the warm water running down both of their body. He smirks, leaning forward and pressing kisses to the side of her neck. “Gods, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted you, love.” There’s really no point in hiding his erection anymore. It’s literally right there. In front of her. At her own reach.

Oh, she reaches all right.

She wraps her fingers around him slowly, teasing him in all the worst ways possible- yet, so satisfying at the same time. His growing arousal for this woman is going to be the death of him. At first, he thinks he’ll just be giving her one of those handjobs, but then she sinks down on her knees, and her mouth is clearly around him in all the right ways, and he’s losing his mind. All the anger diminishes simply with her touch, all the tension is gone, and what remains is their obvious need for each other. Neither of them denies that they’ve been craving this for ages.

Before he reaches his point, he stops her in her tracks, a big smug smile on his face. “I’d prefer for myself to be inside of you when I come,” he whispers dirtily into her ear, pulling her back up onto her feet. “Don’t you think so, darling?” His hand plays with her soaked locks, his fingers then dancing onto her shoulders, pushing her chest against the wall. 

She whimpers softly, her forehead tapping the tiles. The showerhead continues to rain warm water, hitting his back as he positions himself against her center. Without any more time to waste, he pushes forward, letting out a grunt of struggle before her walls drop down and he’s able to thrust at a steady, yet good pace for her. The more she cries out his name, the more he loves hearing his own name roll of her tongue and out of her mouth in a sense of desperation and hunger. Their wet bodies connect, sliding against each other as he falls forward to her shoulder, kissing down her shoulder blades. 

“So wet for me, Swan,” he mumbles against her skin as he continues to plunge deep inside of her.

“We’re in a fucking shower, Killian,” she breathes out, her hands resting on the tiles. “Of course I’m wet.” Within a seconds time she retracts that statement. “I’ll just stop talking.”

He chuckles as he rests his hands on her waist. “Aye, but that doesn’t change how _you_ wanted to shower with me in the first place, love,” he teases, nibbling against her earlobe. “You’re tight,” he grunts, his breathing starting to become more short and ragged every time he pulls out and pushes back into her.

“ _Killian_ ,” falls from her lips before the both of them reached their limit, taking all the effort for him to remain standing, supporting her as well. “Fuck me,” she mutters, her head hitting the tiles. 

“Perhaps on the bed,” he taunts, “I prefer something a bit more spacious so I can ravish you with all the pleasure possible.” 

In one night, he’s released all of his frustration, he’s settled himself in a… sort of confusing relationship with Emma (by no means is it bad), and his boss calls to tell him he’s going to double his next paycheck for the good work he’s been doing. (Sounds like pity to Killian, but damn, who’s going to complain about a raise here and there? It’s beneficial.)

So maybe, his life isn’t as bad as he sought it out to be. Laying in bed with Emma Swan in his arms, enveloping her warmth, smelling her wonderful shampoo, and finally giving in to his deep feelings for her, maybe the stars will align for once with his life.

(“I love you, Jones.”)

(“Pardon?”)

(“Nothing.”)


	4. all of these games (we play)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 29\. rival CEOs who secretly fuck au

**iv.**

 

_Fuck_. Here she is again with Killian Jones in the fucking _janitor’s closet_ of his stupid office building, pressed up against the door with a dimly lit lightbulb over their heads, getting all the pleasure that this extremely arrogant, pompous, attractive asshole can offer. No big deal though, he's just the CEO of the rival tourism company she's been going up against for _five_ years, but this definitely is not a rare occurrence by this point. Well, having wild, good sex, of course.

 

It’s not her fault that his touches make her squirm while heat shoots to her stomach, nor is it her fault his accent, deep and rich, makes her shiver the moment he whispers something dirty in her ear when they meet for _civil_ business reasons.

 

Just today, however, he couldn't wait to reach his office, so he ended up tugging her into the closet and quietly shutting the door before his leg slipped in between hers and his lips attached to her neck. Not that she complained through that.

 

So yes, now she's literally whimpering because he won't _fucking speed up_ , too caught up with teasing her instead because "Killian, you fucking asshole, get on with it" has only elicited him to contribute to the opposite of what she wants. It's simply ridiculous because she can feel his arousal pressing against her thighs but he just won't continue to the next step, and she's losing her patience with him, but according to Killian, he apparently _loves_ when she can't stay patient, even though he's the one who couldn't wait until they reached his office.

 

It doesn't take long before she switches positions with him, pushing him against the door with a dull _thud_ , her hands on his face while she practically _devours_ his mouth with hers, getting the revenge she wants; that he fucking deserves. Emma Swan does not have a daily, hot sex quota, but if she did, Killian fills that up pretty quickly within the first few minutes. He knows every inch of her, which should scare her, and despite how they're rivals and hate each other and can barely _tolerate_ each other in public, behind the curtains, she withers beneath his touch and crumbles on her knees from his voice. And over all of that, of course she doesn't harbour any more... _intimate_ emotions.

 

She unbuckles his belt with speed and the dexterity of her fingers, pushing his pants down, finding that the lump beneath his boxer briefs turns her on even _more_ , feeling the ache between her legs tighten, while she groans at his knowing smirk because he fucking _knows_.

 

"Can't wait, can we, darling?" he whispers next to her ear, his voice rough but oddly seductive.

 

Inhaling a sharp breath, her head drops to his shoulder, his lips back to her neck while his hands smooth over to pull her shirt off, hands finding her bare skin immediately. She doesn't know why, but how he uses his teeth to pull the straps off her bra off is interestingly arousing, with the combination of him unclasping the back, the clothing falling to the floor. Killian's mouth latches to one hardened nipple and she moans, quietly, while his other hand gropes the other breast, massaging and _fuck_ , why does he do this -

 

"Christ," she bites out, her hand roaming through his hair, another one braced against his chest, his tie already thrown somewhere onto the shelves of cleaning supplies, multiple buttons of his dress shirt already unbuttoned. "Fuck, _Killian_...please," she breathes, pleading for him to move on.

 

He hums, that noise coming from the back of his throat, his lips trailing over her collarbone, her shoulder, to her face, her lips. "Love it when you beg," he murmurs, biting on her upper lip, hands falling to her jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping it. "All wet," he mumbles, his hand sliding over the sensitive flesh in one go, causing her to gasp before his lips captures hers to silence her.  “Don’t want Smee or Turner to find us, love.”

 

This bastard, taunting her every move and reaction. He has more leverage than she does and she _hates_ that but loves it all the same.

 

Her breathing is coming in short pants now, his fingers teasing her in the one place he wants him _in_ her, but he intends to take his time, in the damn closet of all places, and yet she’s powerless to do anything against him. Emma may have a bold personality and strong leadership, but every time she’s alone with him, she falls to her own knees and surrenders.

 

“You’re going to come on my fingers,” he growls into her ear, biting on her earlobe gently, “and then I’m going to _fuck_ you until you can’t walk out of this building.”

 

“All bark and no bite, _Mr. Jones_.”

 

He chuckles, his grin downright _sinful_ , before he shoves her panties off, wasting no time for one finger to be inserted, causing her to arch her back and press herself against him more, wishing to feel more friction between them.

 

Emma has never felt like this before, the thrill of being caught with the thrill of his techniques in pleasing her and satisfying his own personal needs.

 

And then without little warning, he slips in another finger, and then the _third_ promptly, stretching her in a way she can’t even put into words, breathlessly moaning and biting into his shoulder while he sucks at her pulse point. This is _hard_ , having to keep silent in a fucking _janitors closet_ , in the lack of space they have in the first place.

 

She knows if there was to be more space in this room, if there were more _platforms_ , he’d take her over all of them until she’d be as weak as a tiny, exhausted kitten from playing; completely spent and wasted by a man who knows what he’s doing.

 

And the thing is, Emma wouldn’t even give a shit.

 

“I want you to _fall_ -” he grunts, curling his fingers inside of her and she can’t _breathe_ , “- apart, Miss Swan.”

 

It’s like obeying a command, immediately reaching her high when his thumb presses against her clit, breathing still too hard for her. He manages to do this with his _hands_ , it’s no wonder what he can do when his shaft is actually _inside_ of her.

 

“I’m not done with you,” he snarls, shoving his briefs down.

 

Even in this little bit of lighting, she can see his rigid cock against his abdomen.

 

And she’s _more_ than ready to take him on in this battle. (Even though she’s aware she’s already lost to him in this one.)

 

While his hand loosely wraps around his cock, she licks her lips and closes her eyes, knowing already this is going to go rough and quick. Even then, she’s not opposed to the way he’s going to take her against the door.

 

He wraps his arms around her and her legs raise to go around his torso, being pressed against the door as he aligns himself with her entrance, teasing her while he skims over it. Within moments, he enters into her slick folds, and she can hardly suppress the moan that grows from the back of her throat, at least before he kisses her hungrily again. Emma can feel the texture of the door going against her back, enhancing the experience to know she’s literally being _fucked_ against a door in a closet.

 

“Bloody fucking... _beautiful_ ,” he grunts, thrusting into her with a little more force and speed. “So tight, love...so wet and _tight_.”

 

And she wants to scream his name out loud, but she _can’t_. It becomes a wordless cry as her head falls back and she reaches her release after a few more perfect hits, his forehead soon dropping to her shoulder while he stiffens beneath her. Emma’s muscles tense for a long while before she’s out of energy, wanting to just drop to the floor (a bed _would’ve_ been nice), and sleep the fatigue off.

 

Killian is smirking against her skin, she can feel it, before he pulls out.

 

“Clean up, get dressed,” he murmurs, grabbing towels that have been freshly washed on the shelves, handing her one. It’s when she lowers herself and is still shaking slightly, he asks, “Can’t walk now, can you? You can hardly stand, darling.”

 

She laughs quietly, nodding. “I take back what I said earlier. You’ve got all the bite in you, still.”

 

“Of course, lass.” He pulls his briefs and pants back up, buttoning his shirt back and re-tying his tie. “Come meet me in my office in ten. We’ve still got...business to discuss.”

 

.~.

 

No one ever knows about their dalliances; only the two of them.

 

But according to Ruby…

 

“ _You guys have the most sexual tension in the world, I can hardly serve your damn lunches_.”

 

Emma usually laughs it off and shakes her head, denying it. Of course, though, Ruby is right with her odd wolf-like senses, something that’s been established ever since she’s been able to depict who and who have proper chemistry. But Emma can’t deny that there is tension, there’s _always_ tension between her and Killian Jones.

 

His smiles, his voice, his movements, she has all of him memorized just as he does for her. But, the bastard knows how to sneak his fingers to gently trace a pattern over her thigh when no one’s looking; his hand falling a little _lower_ on her back than respectably possible; his lips coming to her ear to whisper something about new business partners (lie).

 

He’s incorrigible. This is _exactly_ why they’re rivals. They _can’t_ be friends.

 

(Except, they sort of are behind the public eye.)

 

“You’re stealing my business, Mr. Jones.”

 

“Is that so, Miss Swan?” He chuckles, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his desk. “Just because we’ve introduced a new plan to tourists, does not mean we’re stealing any business from you lot. This is a business, we are explicitly rival industries fighting against each other, a little _challenge_ shouldn’t be much for you to try and overcome now, is it?”

 

Emma knows he’s trying to rile her up in front of everyone, that’s _exactly_ what he’s doing. Releasing a shaky breath, she sits back down in her seat and shakes her head. “Never mind, you’re right. We are rivals. I’ll find a way to gain back some of my consumers instead of complaining to you about it.”

 

Killian grins, leaning back in his seat with a nod. “Now that’s more like it.”

 

.~.

 

“Quite naughty today, nearly causing a scene in front of all my associates.”

 

“Right, I _hardly_ even started to cause a scene in front of them,” she responds, crossing her arms over her chest. “You should’ve been aware since you invited me to join this meeting in the first place.”

 

He grins, cocking his head to the side. “If I hadn’t, you would have complained even further when we start attracting more customers.”

 

“And you just _know_ you’re going to get more attention, huh?”

 

“Of course,” he answers with such an attitude of it being an _obvious_ answer. “We’ve all done our research, love. Elaborate research, really, hours upon _hours_ and days.”

 

Now he’s just playing with her. “Fuck you,” she grumbles, frowning slightly.

 

Killian chuckles. “I mean, that’s what we do all the time, Swan, but come now, smile for me.” His expression softens then and he tucks a stray curl of hair behind her ear and smiles, more genuine than smug. “What do you want tonight?”

 

“Food.”

 

“That’s all. A dinner?”

 

“Well you know, _everyone_ wants to have a dinner,” she retorts.

 

He drops his voice, leaning closer. “Are you hungry for food or for...something else?”

 

_Fuck her._

 

.~.

 

“ _Killian_...oh _god_ …”

 

“Bloody _fuck_ , Emma,” he hisses, changing the angle of his thrusts.

 

She’s shaking when she comes (for the _third_ time, _jesus_ how many times can he cause her an orgasm?), unable to keep her composure when she falls back on the couch, the leather couch, in his office, him being a solid weight on top of her while they both try to catch their breaths.

 

“Why do we keep doing this?” she quietly asks.

 

Killian raises his head, a lazy smile on his lips. “I quite like our sex for one,” he says honestly, his hands warm on her skin. “And…” When he stops there, he sighs.

 

“And what?”

 

“And because I like... _you_.”

 

Shit, shit, _shit_ , he’s not lying and now she’s panicking.

 

“Emma -”

 

“I’m going,” she mumbles, climbing out from under him and getting her clothes, slipping them back on. “This was a mistake.”

 

“Was it really?” he calls behind her, grabbing her wrist and pulling her back against him. Killian pushes her toward the wall and she’s weak and vulnerable and _damn it_. “Swan, tell me...tell me straight to my bloody face you don’t _feel_ what we have - this...this connection. Tell me and I’ll leave you alone.”

 

How tempting it is to say she doesn’t...but she does, and Emma can’t deny that to his face. The moment she locks her gaze on his, so heated and serious, but somewhat soft and understanding of her sense to _run_ , she sighs and averts her gaze. “I’m not good at dating,” she eventually blurts out, her wrists freed from a tight grasp.

 

Instead of scolding her, he brings her wrists up and kisses them delicately. “Perhaps not,” he begins carefully, “but it certainly doesn’t mean you can’t take a leap of faith, love. It doesn’t mean you can’t try.”

 

Neal left a fairly huge impact on her life (everyday she’s glad she didn’t give up on her dreams), Walsh and Graham had been failures, too. Killian, he seems like he won’t let her go, and she knows that. Sometimes...he’s not just having casual sex with her, it’s like he’s trying to make love, and well, that is _absolutely_ scaring the hell out of her. Emma just doesn't want to believe or convince herself that's what he's doing. She's never wanted to mix her business with pleasure, let alone the pleasure with feelings.

 

“What do you say, Emma? Let me take you out to dinner - we are quite famished, and you did tell me you wanted dinner.”

 

After a few moments of thinking (over thinking, actually), of hesitating, she sighs and nods. “Okay.”

 

.~.

 

The first date goes exceptionally well, but by the time he’s parked in front of his house where they have privacy, she ends up sitting on his lap while he reclines his seat all the way back. It’s certainly not much space or comfortable, but when she grinds against him slightly (mostly just to get a little more comfortable on her part), he growls this guttural sound ripping from his throat before he hardens beneath her, and she groans, rolling her eyes.

 

“Can’t you wait until we’re _inside_ your house?”

 

“There’s another place I’d much rather be inside of right now.”

 

Honestly, she should have expected him to respond like that, she literally just set herself up for another one of his damn insinuating tactics again.

 

“I should’ve seen that coming,” she mutters, her head falling past his shoulder. “So...are we going to go in there and have a drink, or are we going to lie here in your car?”

 

Killian grins, completely feigning the innocence of a puppy when he’s definitely neither innocent or a puppy. (Though, he does have the eyes of a puppy when he pleads with her.) “Oh, Swan, I’m quite certain I like our current position very much,” he says.

 

“Insufferable moron,” she murmurs.

 

.~.

 

The sex doesn’t stop.

 

(Not that she cares.)

 

And it’s still a secret that they’re...making it work out, somehow. Emma’s really trying, and he’s being patient with her, so she’s glad about that.

 

Sometimes he breathes out her name like a damn _prayer_ , and she needs to keep herself from darting out of whatever location they find themselves trapped in for the moment. Killian is an understanding man, but apparently he knows exactly when she wants to run, so he swiftly goes to wrap his arms around her and pull her into his lap while he assures her nothing will hurt her (at least not him), that he won’t leave.

 

Their meetings also include more business, but actually it consists of more bantering about who’s going to become the leading tourism company this year in Storybrooke (Smee always looks nervous and Elsa always seems a bit amused), and she knows defeat so well, she doesn’t want to taste the bitter, lost feeling again so she fights.

 

In the end, her consumer rate is just a tad bit behind his. Emma sighs against Killian’s skin that night while curled up against him under the silky sheets he owns, the feeling of bare skin against her, while he kisses her forehead and turns the lamp on the bedside table off.

 

“Perhaps next time,” he whispers into her hair, slipping his arm over her middle and pulling her flush against him. “Everyone knows Emma Swan is quite the fighter.”

 

“And everyone knows Killian Jones loves a challenge,” she retaliates, feeling her eyelids grow heavy.

 

The stress recently has been overwhelming her, and them having sex has honestly not been enough to release any sort of tension; except tonight. The exhaustion is finally settling into her bones, the tiredness from assigning tasks to other departments of the company, keeping track of the rates when they’re falling behind, dealing with tourists harbouring questions; _everything_.

 

Their rivalry is going to be set to rest for a while.

 

It does not take long before she’s falling asleep to his heartbeat and the sound of rain hitting the windows, or the rain splattering against the wooden porch out front.

 

She’ll beat him next time.

 


	5. important meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 09\. i teach your child and we have very important meetings about their education au

**v.**

 

She's never _intended_ to get in a relationship with Henry's English teacher, but it's just unfair that he's British, likes the sea (as she does, too), and is able to relate to her on so many different levels. So yeah, she's never purposely intended on getting herself involved with Mr. Jones, but now that she is, it means having to have secret _meetings_ about Henry's education.

 

One can only wonder how _that_ goes.

 

There's only two ways to it anyways. Either said meeting goes well, or it goes horribly. (It usually goes well, though.)

 

(If you consider 'well' as in being pushed up against his desk with his lips slanted against hers, hungrily desiring what they always have to hide so often, given the circumstances of their relationship.)

 

.~.

 

It's completely unfair - it's actually totally fair since they really shouldn't be together anyways - how she has to deal with him being in that stupid navy blue blazer and white button-up, his hair combed nicely to the side with the use of some hair products. It's just some five minute teacher-parent interview that they always need to have in school, which she obviously has to meet up with him, given that Henry's homeroom is English with Mr. Jones.

 

"Lovely to meet you again, Miss Swan." They shake hands (stupid formality). "Good to see you, Henry."

 

"You too, Mr. Jones," Henry responds.

 

They discuss education and Henry's strengths and his weaknesses, what he needs to do to improve, who he can go for when he needs assistance, and etc. That doesn't take very long though, no more than ten minutes before he's wishing them a good rest of their day. As guilty as she may feel, however, she tells Henry to wait in the front foyer because she forgot to ask his teacher an important question.

 

( _Very_ important.)

 

Of course he _purposefully_ arranged Henry's interview to be the last he has, because when she walks into the room, the door closes behind her quickly before the man is pushing her toward one of the student's desks, lifting her up and onto the flat surface while kissing the living daylight out of her. If they weren't having any other business to tend to, or a _child_ to take care of, or _rules_ , their kissing would turn to making out, which would then turn to literal fucking in a classroom (which is oddly arousing, in some way). But, there are these _limits_ they must not breach. Unfortunately.

 

"Bloody hell, that was quite the wait," he mumbles against her lips, panting hardly to catch his breath after _that_.

 

She can't blame him though, as she's just as breathless as she possible can be, her fingers in his hair, playing with the bit at the nape of his neck. "Sorry. I just told Henry I had an important question to ask and for him to wait in the front foyer." Emma bumps her nose with his, foreheads pressed close. "I hate sneaking around like this."

 

"Aye, I know, Swan, but it's for the best." He sighs quietly before pressing his lips to hers again briefly, lingering closely before stepping back. "You should get back to your lad, he'll be getting impatient."

 

Emma drops down from the desk, heading toward the door. "What's my cover for the _important_ question?"

 

"Some recommended novels for Henry's age because he needs to read more?"

 

"You're setting me up to actually buy more books for him, aren't you?"

 

He chuckles, shrugging like he's all innocent. "What can I say, love? Literature is one of my _many passions_."

 

Fucking bastard.

 

He's going to end her before they can ever go public with their relationship.

 

.~.

 

Henry knows better than to question her love life, or to even get involved with it whatsoever, but that kid is perceptive and the truest believer of anyone she's ever known in her life. She can certainly say he never got that out of her when she's possibly one of the most stubborn people in the world. (Killian says she's extremely stubborn - but admits he loves that about her.)

 

(Way to make things about the dude involved with secret dating life she has going on.)

 

Apparently though, one afternoon after homework and projects, he's playing video games with her and he asks if she's ever going to get together with anyone else. Henry knows of his father, the one who left them alone (or well, left _her_ alone before she'd realized she had someone else inside of her), so yes, he's aware it's a sensitive subject. What the kid doesn't know is that she spends nearly every day with the man she's seeing (her son’s English _teacher_ ), and that he's somehow broken down her walls (mainly through the sexual attraction they both feel), and let him in.

 

And yet, given that they first begun with just kissing _then_ getting to know each other, she doesn't regret a thing. Killian Jones is an orphan, too, abandoned by his father, mother deceased, and his brother killed from a boating accident a few years back. They both understand lost, abandonment and disappointment, so their pieces seem to fall in place together. Loneliness suddenly doesn’t feel like it’s there anymore.

 

But, there's still one more year left before Henry's moving on to high school, so if she can endure keeping it a secret until then -

 

"You know I think you and Mr. Jones would be pretty cool together."

 

Just like that, she turns her head and blinks a few times, her fingers still mashing buttons on the controller. "What? Why would you even think that?"

 

Henry shrugs, biting down on his lower lip. "I mean, it'd be awesome to have my teacher and Mom date. He could tutor me and stuff if he ever comes over, assuming I need help with some homework or projects. And you'd be happy."

 

"Hey, I _am_ happy!"

 

Henry scoffs. "Not everyone is gonna leave, you know?"

 

_I know_ , she wants to say that because she's convinced of that when it comes to Killian. "Yeah, well, you never know," she mumbles after losing to her son in a one-v-one. "Alright, kid, games over, go read."

 

"Aw, come on, Mom."

 

" _Read_."

 

.~.

 

It's not really a meeting about her son's education; it _never_ is.

 

That's just a measly excuse to cover up the amount of sinful time they spend in his classroom with the door locked, the curtains drawn, and the lights off. (There is a small window on the door, but it's covered by student work, which _isn't_ see through.)

 

Today is no different. Well, it's _somewhat_ different.

 

They've never done this position before, but it seems to really get him off in this situation.

 

Emma is straddling his lap while he's on his chair, leaning back just a little with her weight while hands roam and mouths clash. It's easy for her to know when he's aroused, the feeling of him hardening just beneath her touch and kisses, as much as she knows she _needs_ him, too. Emma really needs to bang since she hasn't in forever, and Killian is the only candidate she's willing to do it with in the first place.

 

Her sex quota has not been filled in ages, and today, it seems like it finally will be.

 

Except, there's one...well, _two_ little issues about this arrangement. One, they need to keep quiet, and two, they need to pray that no janitor will try and unlock the door in the hopes of finding an empty classroom to clean.

 

“Have you - did you get checked recently?” she asks.

 

“Aye, no worries. You?”

 

“Same.”

 

There’s not a lot of words being exchanged after that, the both of them aware about their sexual activity while sure they know of the other’s.

 

Killian's hands are firm at her waist, keeping her on his lap while he slides his tongue between her lips and into her mouth. He swallows her moans, making them silent, but every time she inhales a sharp breath at his methods, his fingers tighten their hold on her hips, surely to leave bruises for later (not that she really cares), until one hand is falling lower and lower until it's gripping her ass. Even at that her breath will hitch, her arms resting around his shoulders, hands in his soft hair.

 

If he's going to play around with her, she's not going to let him have that chance anymore.

 

She backs off of him, and even in the dark of the room, she notices his eyes travel with her movement, his hands reluctantly letting her go to do as she pleases. He will enjoy this, she's sure she will, at least, considering his quiet groan when she lowers onto her knees and her hands travel to lift his t-shirt up, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his jeans slowly (just to lengthen the entire _two can play at that game_ teasing).

 

"Keep quiet," she whispers, her hand easily finding the bulge. _Boxer briefs_ , she knows that now.

 

"Swan," he murmurs, " _christ_."

 

He nearly shoves his briefs all the way down because of his lack of control at the moment, but it only goes a short way down so his entire package is showing, enough for _her_ to enjoy. But this is his pleasure too, because as much as she wants to be fucked, she knows they can't go that far in this place at all.

 

Slowly, her hand wraps around his aching flesh and she begins to pump up and down a few times. She hears a few papers shuffle, and notices he's using a hand to grip on his desk, making sure his chair isn't going to roll around while he squirms in his seat. "We're not even to the fun part yet, Mr. Jones," Emma says, right before she descends down on it, her tongue swirling circles around the tip.

 

It's the first time they've gotten this far before, but she's not complaining and he certainly isn't either, but she knows that whatever comes during this and _after_ will not be as loud as what will get down when they have a bed and actual privacy, knowing that no one will interrupt them and that no one will hear them.

 

She pulls back with a pop, looking up at him, and his head is thrown back, eyes closed. Emma licks from the base to the tip on the underside of his cock, and she hears him inhale a ragged breath, fingers winding through her hair with a tighter grip. It's been a long, _long_ time since she's done any of this, but by the way he's reacting, she's doing it right and making him weak beneath her touch (though she predicts she'll fall prey to him worse). But, it is then when she takes him into her mouth again, slowly hitting the back of her throat before bobbing back up again, doing that repeatedly, as he whimpers her name quietly and curses like a sailor.

 

It keeps going, dragging him into her and then out, one hand following the same movement, fingers brushing his balls when he begins to jerk his hips upwards. He's getting there, she _knows_ it, and then his hand tightens in her hair again and he stills, her name falling from his lips like a damn prayer (fucking _hot_ ) as she sucks him dry before pulling back, the look on his face of pure lust and satisfaction.

 

How no one has bothered to walk in yet is a surprise, but she's not worrying about that, not when she's literally just gave him what he's probably wanted for as long as she has.

 

"Satisfied?"

 

"Quite," he breathes out, his hand dropping away from the edge of his desk, both of them moving to hoist her back up onto his lap (with little protest on her part), lips finding hers immediately as if he hasn't tasted her in years.

 

He parts his legs a bit more before she notices him unzipping her jeans and pushing them away, right hand plunging past her underwear and to the spot which has been building up plenty of heat and desire. His fingers teases her folds, and she whimpers against his neck. Killian chuckles darkly, sucking on spots on her neck before he finally slides a finger inside, easing her tension.

 

" _Killian_ ," she breathes, her hands gripping on his shoulders, "please."

 

"As you wish," he mumbles, slipping in the second digit before he's pumping in and out.

 

It's not easy for her to be sitting on his lap while he's _fingerfucking_ her to oblivion, his lips latched onto the bare skin of her neck, all while she feels the heat begin to pool and the blood begin to rush.

 

She's not there yet, but she gets awfully fucking _close_ when he curls his fingers and his thumb finds her clit, and she knows this is the exact revenge he's getting now that she's at his mercy. Her heart is pounding to the point where she can hear it in her own ears, save for the amount of quiet moans she makes muffled against his neck and his wonderful grunts about her walls becoming tight and that she's _bloody beautiful_ like this.

 

" _Fuck_ , I'm so close," she huffs, one hand moving to the back of his neck so she can cling onto him. In less than a few more seconds, she feels the incoming wave of immense pleasure hit her, nearly crying out his name loudly if he never pulled back and captured her lips in his in time.

 

He smiles against her lips. "Are _you_ satisfied, love?"

 

"Yes."

 

(She really is _fucked_.)

 

.~.

 

Things don't get to last very long before they secretly begin to meet each other at other places, but it's mostly her going to his house and being taken on multiple surfaces and in different rooms. It's not sex they both take advantage of though. Many times they just spend a good day on his sinfully comfortable couch, watching TV shows and movies with glasses of wine or takeout because neither of them are in the mood to cook.

 

There have been plenty of times where she's fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder, being woken by his touches and kisses, adamant she needs to go pick up Henry from his friend’s house before she's late and has an _unbelievable excuse_.

 

It's one late night (Henry being at a sleepover), when they've already gone at it for two rounds and she's fallen asleep, when she wakes up to his mouth around a nipple, that she begins to realize their so called _casual fucks_ , have been love making the entire time. And oddly enough, she doesn't seem to care too much as she probably _should_ be.

 

"I could get used to this," she breathlessly says, arching her back as she feels a hand back down at her bundle of nerves. "You're one needy teacher."

 

" _Your_ needy teacher, might I add," he mumbles, pressing a trail of kisses down her body. "Swan, you're already so wet for me."

 

She moans when the tip of his cock nudges her entrance, her hands grasping at the rumpled sheets around her. "Because you're fucking _teasing_ me around, Mr. Jo -" a gasp interrupts her from finishing, his cock entering her in one swift motion, hitting the sweet spot at the right angle.

 

The rest of this night goes by far more slowly though, neither of them rushing each other when it comes to what they went to exchange, and she loves it. She loves the entire slow making love in the early hours of the morning, and how he's quite possessive of her in bed while they sleep, clinging onto her and not wanting her to be out of his grasp. Emma finds that adorable, that he likes to hold onto her and touch her and claim that she is _his_ , when she definitely is.

 

It's not over when he comes inside of her though, because his lips are still marking about, and she's still panting heavily after _that_ wakeup call. It's a few minutes later when he pulls the covers up and wraps his arms around her, his breathing similarly matching hers.

 

They've been secretly dating for six months now (a miracle), but neither of them have said some rather specific words.

 

But today, she just quietly whispers an _I love you_ against his sweaty skin, and she realizes a little too late before he's smiling and kissing her until neither of them can draw a breath into their lungs. _Then_ he says he loves her too, and the simple admittance makes her heartbeat race and her stomach flip, and she begins to think that maybe he is _the_ one. The one that can be a father to Henry, which he's lacked, and the one to love her and bring her home because that's what she's always wanted for all of her life.

 

Morning comes too fast, but he satisfies her slowly, lazily, before she heads to the shower to clean herself off from smelling like _him_ and sex, but she's only greeted five minutes later with a man behind her, pushing her up against the shower tiles all slick and wet.

 

Safe to say that shower takes longer than it needs to, but it is by far the most sex she's had within a day - and the best.

 

The ache between her legs is bearable, luckily.

 

"Didn't wear you out _too_ much, did I, my love?"

 

The endearment makes her lips curl into a smile - it doesn’t scare her away. "No, you didn't. It feels good."

 

"Brilliant," he whispers, pressing a brief kiss to her lips. "Henry's doing very well in class, if you're wondering."

 

"Oh, I have _no_ doubt when you're teaching him."

 

.~.

 

Her head is swimming when she slowly wakes up. Her eyes feel like there are rocks on them, but she slowly manages to open them up, in spite of the blinding light.

 

"Emma..."

 

She groans at hearing her name, her hands twitching a little and blinking her eyes to get the exhaustion out of them.

 

"Emma, love," the voice pleads.

 

Blue. His eyes are blue and full of concern when she makes eye contact, and she recognizes it to be Killian, but she doesn't even remember what happened. "Am I in the hospital?" she rasps out.

 

"Aye, you gave us quite the scare." Hs hands cover one of hers. "Your vehicle slipped on some bloody ice patches, you weren't found in the best condition. You've been out for a day."

 

"I don't even remember any of that," she grumbles, squinting at him. "Henry -"

 

"Is fine. Concerned, but alright and at Miss Lucas' place." Killian's thumb traces a pattern over her palm. "One moment we're in class, the next he's run out of the school and I'm standing in the classroom in front of twenty other students frozen in place."

 

Emma has the energy to frown, knowing she must have thrown him in a loop and put him in a position where he had to keep teaching while being worried about her state. "Sorry."

 

He shakes his head, bringing her hand up to his lips. "Nothing to apologize for, my love. Whale said you'll recover fully with no issues, so long as you're not reckless."

 

"I guess we can't keep hiding from Henry then?"

 

"I suppose not."

 

.~.

 

"Finally," Henry exclaims, "I knew there was something going on!"

 

"You did?"

 

"Oh come on, Mom, you think _asking a very important question_ was going to fool me? I was suspicious by then, you know."

 

Emma laughs, a little embarrassed that her plans were never really well-thought out in the first place. "I guess I never was really subtle about the entire thing now that I think about it." They're waiting on Killian because she can't drive yet, and all of her other friends are rather busy with work. "So, you're fine with... _us_?"

 

Henry shrugs. "I said it was cool before, and nothing's changed my mind. Besides, I'm happy for you - as long as you're happy with him. You _are_ my Mom."

 

She ruffles his hair. "Thanks, kid."

 

Just at the right moment, the door opens and it's Killian walking in, pausing a moment to glance between them. "He knows?"

 

Emma nods. "Yep."

 

"Are you fine with me courting your mum, Henry?"

 

"Duh," Henry responds with a smile. "Just don't be weird in front of my friends."

 

"I don't reckon we'll be going so public with this just yet, lad," Killian says, moving over to lower his lips onto hers; she accepts his little kiss. "Perhaps not until the summer since I don't believe we can last until you're in high school."

 

There are a lot of things they're not going to go public on, and for now, she knows that's the right thing to do (sex life being the obvious, dear _god_ , she does not need her kid to know about that).  

 

"Ready to get out of here, love?"

 

" _Yes_ ," she groans. "Hospital gowns and being in bed for so long sucks."

 

Killian grins because he _knows_ what sort of 'being in bed for so long' doesn't suck, but he doesn't say anything because he knows Henry's standing not far away from them. Technically, she brought this upon herself, a man who teaches the English language and enjoys to insinuate things whenever possible. And to think that loving him like this will mean having to deal with so many more jokes and references and insinuations in their future…

 

Well, she’s got time.

 


End file.
